December 20, 2011
Isle de Omotepe, Nicaragua
The Enemy’s been attacking me all day. He says, “Don’t you know you’ll never be good enough? They’re crazy to think you’ll be able to intercede the way you need to. You’re weak. You’ll never be good enough. You aren’t safe here. You can’t trust them.”
I hide beneath a cloud of self-doubt, rejecting attention from my team, but especially from the men. I refuse to talk, choosing instead to wallow in the Enemy’s words, letting them sink beneath my skin. These lies of his always burn, but today I’m sure they’re being tattooed into the fragile skin of under my eyes, visible for everyone to see.
Stacey and Mike come to visit us and I ache for the truth I know they carry with them. Mike is sick and so goes to bed early. Stacey stays up to do feedback with us. We talk about the thing I felt following us home in the dark, something evil, something I was desperately afraid of. I’d yelled scripture at it, rebuking it in the name of Jesus Christ. Stacey gives a lot of insight into spiritual warfare, and though we know the battle has already been won, encourages us to keep declaring victory in Jesus’ name.
We talk about how I’ve been really afraid on the island. The fear has been a constant, weighing on my spirit. More than ever, I’ve hated being alone in the dark.
Thomas asks if my fear of the dark has escalated since being on the island, and I say yes, yes absolutely. I get really vulnerable—like, edge of tears vulnerable—and Stacey comes over. She puts her hands on my head and prays powerful words that crash like tidal waves over my heart.
Afterwards they make me stand by the water and yell, “I AM NOT AFRAID” and “FEARLESS!” I speak truth over myself, declaring that I am beloved, strong, redeemed, renewed, rebuilt, restored, refined, not lost, needed, not forgotten. I say, “I am just Heather… and that’s okay.” Stacey says, “And that’s more than enough.”
And then my team speaks up:
Thomas says, “You are trusted.”
Chrissy says, “You are found righteous. You are raw.”
Lauras says, “You are precious. You are safe.”
Mickey says, “You are the light.”
Rachel says, “Darkness cannot touch you,” and Mickey says, “Because you are the light.”
I take three steps forward, until my toes touch the very edge of the cliff. The team calls this spot my perch, because they often find me here, just sitting and looking out over the lake. I stand there for a long minute and suddenly remember another team leader telling me that at some point, Paul had to stop mourning Saul—the man he used to be—and step into his new identity in Christ. I raise my hands and make my first real, heartfelt declaration:
“This far and no further. Eighteen years is eighteen too many to live in fear. You can’t touch me anymore. You can’t hurt me anymore. I belong to the LORD. This island and no further. I’m telling you to leave me alone. I am redeemed. I am Beloved.”
Suddenly, it’s so all so clear and so bright. The identity I’ve always had but never walked in falls over me like a familiar sweater. It’s been past time to stop making up for what’s already been forgiven, stop punishing myself for what wasn’t my fault, to stop mourning Saul.
Gloria a Dios. Glory to God.
